


Revelations

by ReigningMoon



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReigningMoon/pseuds/ReigningMoon
Summary: Ah, Romance.
Relationships: Wolfram von Bielefeld/Shibuya Yuuri
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	Revelations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigersilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigersilver/gifts).



> Very very short, one shot. My first attempt at writing this pair. They are my currant obsession.

The bench was fairly old, having belonged to the ill fated 13th Maou. It was made of iron in a fillagree design by some long forgotten artisan and , currently, painted white. The bench sat off of the main garden path in a bower of pink roses. This was, according to Lady Celi, the most romantic spot in the Royal Gardens. 

Occupying this most romantic of benches were Celi’s youngest son, Wolfram von Bielefelt, who was currently engrossed in Volume 12 of Zander’s Battle Tactics for Fire Wielders. Second edition.

Seated next to the young lordling was His Majesty the 27th Maou of Shin-Makoku, one Shibuya Yuuri. His Majesty was from a place called Japan which was located in another world called Earth. 

Lord von Bielefelt and the Maou were engaged. Accidentally. About four or so years ago. Lord von Bielefelt declared his undying love for said Maou quite often and quite loudly.

His Majesty declared, also quite often and just as loudly, that two boys could not possibly get married. Ever. Usually followed by a hasty retreat. 

So it was odd to the casual on-looker that these two most mismatched of fiances should have chosen The Most Romantic Bench in the Royal Gardens on which to enjoy a warm Spring day. 

From his vantage point behind a lilac bush Lord Conrart Weller, personal body guard to the Maou, kept an eye on the two young men seated on the bench. Far enough away to be discreet, yet close enough to clearly watch, and intervene if need be. His Majesty seemed distracted and jittery and Lord Weller made a mental note to speak to his godson.. 

On the other hand Lord Weller’s half-brother, the young von Bielefelt oft times referred to as Wolfram the Beautiful, or The Kings Whore, depending on which side of the gossip mill one stood, seemed oblivious to his companions distress. His perfectly formed nose buried deeply in his book.

This went on for quite a while, His Majesty fidgeting, fists clenching and unclenching on his black clad knees eyes cast down or up into the blue sky. Then, at last, with black eyes glinting in determination, and jaw firmly set, The Maou stood.

“Wolfram. Stand up.” His Majesty commanded.

And being a trained soldier, sworn to live and die for his King and country, Wolfram obeyed and stood up to face Maou Yuuri with an inquisitive look that reeked of annoyance.

His Majesty took a step toward Wolfram, bent his head and initiated their first, and maybe only, romantic kiss. 

Lord Weller straightened his posture and watched as the book dropped from Wolfram’s hand and the Maou deepened the kiss. Wolfram seemed in shock, eyes wide, arms at his sides with fingers visibly trembling. He remained that way as Yuuri pulled him closer, holding the smaller boy by the waist. Closer. And closer still. For what seemed like hours, but was not even a minute, until Yuuri broke the kiss, wiped the saliva and tears from his face and regarded Lord von Bielefelt for a brief few seconds before bolting back toward the Castle.

Lord Weller stood torn between going after His Majesty or aiding his younger half-brother whose knees had turned to jelly a minute or so ago. Conrart caught Wolfram as he slumped into a dead faint.

Within the castle walls His Majesty sprinted thru the halls as if on his way towards a home run. Some of the staff swore, later on, that they heard the Maou giggling. Once within the Royal Suite with doors shut firmly, Yuuri flung himself on to the bed and screamed into a pillow then lay there on his belly panting a mantra 

“I kissed him. I kissed him I kissed him. I kissed Wolfram. Wolfram I kissed him. I kissed a boy I kissed a boy I fucking kissed a BOY!” 

He licked his lips still able to taste the kiss and maybe strawberries. He had done it as an experiment. He would kiss Wolfram, a chaste kiss, on the lips. He had planned to be revolted, sickened, disgusted with himself for even contemplating such a repulsive act.  
But  
No

Instead he felt giddy and there was an odd feeling he couldn’t put a finger on and there was a fluttering feeling that made him want to laugh and cry and go find Wolfram and do it AGAIN!

Yuuri rolled over onto his back, still clutching a decorative pillow, and laughed and laughed and he knew he was beaten. Doomed. Sentenced to kissing Wolfram as often as possible for the kiss the closeness felt good felt right and his lips his entire being wanted to be close to Wolfram to feel those soft smooth lips and fall into those impossibly green eyes and float away on a sea of bliss


End file.
